


The Hunger Games

by frenchcherrie



Series: Stories of Panem [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Hunger Games (Movies), The Hunger Games (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, Anthea is extravagant, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake Relationship, Hungerlock, Jim loves Molly, Molly and Sherlock fight people to the death, Molly is Katniss, Molly is confused, Molly is the best sister, Molly is the main character for once, Mycroft is an Alcoholic, Mycroft wants to protect Sherlock and Molly, Sherlock is Peeta, Sherlock is soft, Strangers to Lovers, The Hunger Games AU, jim is salty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchcherrie/pseuds/frenchcherrie
Summary: [ THE HUNGER GAMES AU, PART I ]In a dystopian world, the Capitol of Panem maintains its hold on its 12 districts by forcing them each to select a boy and a girl, called Tributes, to compete in a nationally televised event called the Hunger Games. Every citizen must watch as the youths fight to the death until only one remains. When her younger sister is unluckily chosen as Tribute, Molly Hooper volunteers. Though she has little to rely on, other than her hunting skills and sharp instincts, in an arena where she must weigh survival against love.
Relationships: Anthea & Molly Hooper, Anthea & Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty & Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty/Molly Hooper, Molly Hooper & Original Female Character(s), Mycroft Holmes & Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: Stories of Panem [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922095
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. I: The Reaping

A failed uprising. Millions of people dead. The barbaric treaty. Every year, the remaining 12 districts must offer one male and one female tribute ranging from the ages of 12-18 to fight each other to the death in an Arena. A televised event, which hundreds of thousands of people in the nation of Panem are to watch ...

**The Hunger Games.**

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A bright glowing stage appears, a man with a black goatee and another with sparkly purple hair speak to each other— an interview, of sorts.

“I think it’s our tradition.” The jet black haired man says.

“Mm-hmm.”

“It comes out of a particularly painful part of our history.”

“Yes. Yes.”

“But it’s been the way we’ve been able to heal. At first it was a reminder of the rebellion, it was a price the districts had to pay. But I think it has grown from that, I think it’s um, something that knits us all together.” The loud audience claps and cheers.

“This is your third year as Gamemaker. What defines your personal signature?” The man with the sparkly purple hair asks— the interviewer, before it cuts out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A scream pierced through the air in an old worn house in District Twelve.

“No! No!” The girl flails around in her bed, as the young woman, presumably her older sister, comes to comfort her, running her fingers through her hair.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you were just dreaming. You were dreaming.”

“It was me!”

“I know. I know. But it’s not. It’s your first year, Mina. You’re name’s only been in there once, they’re not gonna pick you. Try to go to sleep.” The older girl tries to comfort her, but Mina struggles to comprehend the fact that she might be chosen at the Reaping. That she might be send into that Arena to face her untimely death at the hands of trained killers and other children like her, fighting to survive.

“I can’t.”

“Just try. Just try.”

“Can you sing me something, Molly?” A weak smile makes it’s way to Molly’s lips, as she pats the girl’s head lightly, moving to lay with her on the bed, her arms wrapped loosely around her.

_“Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. Lay down your head, and close your eyes. And when they open, the sun will rise.”_

“You remember that song?” Mina nods. 

_”Here it's safe, and here it's warm. Here the daisies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you.”_

They continue to sing for a little while, before Molly kisses her temple.

“Okay. I gotta go.”

“Where?”

“I just gotta go. But I’ll be back. I love you.” A soft chorus of ‘I love you too’ calls after her as she closes the door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In the woods, Molly stalks a deer with a bow and arrow. She shoots the first, but misses, making her grimace lightly.

She throws a rock to move the deer closer towards her direction. She moves her arrow towards her bow, ready for the hunt, before a voice speaks up from behind her, making her miss.

“What are you gonna do with that when you kill it?” The deer runs away in fright of the arrow, as Molly scrunches up her nose in annoyance. 

“Damn you, James! It’s not funny!” Jim grins, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s kind of funny.” He mumbles, as Molly glares at him. 

“But, back to the matter at hand—what are you gonna do with a hundred pound deer, Miss Molly? It’s Reaping day, the place is crawling with Peacekeepers.”

“I was gonna sell it, to Peacekeepers.” Jim snorts at that. Always the opportunist. 

“Of course you were.”

“Oh, like you don’t sell to Peacekeepers?” Molly rolls her eyes.

“No! Not today!” 

“It was the first deer I’ve seen in a year. Now I have nothing.” She sulks for a bit, but it was only a matter of time before Jim gave in. She always seemed to have that effect on him even though he didn’t quite like it.

“Okay.” He nods, picking up a rock from the pile of dead leaves on the ground, throwing it into a tree to startle some birds while Molly shoots her arrow at them.

A giggle escapes from both of them when she shoots a bird successfully. She smiles up at Jim, a sparkle in her eyes, before she walks to retrieve the shot bird. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly inhales a breath of fresh air as she and Jim talked for a little while. District 12 might not have been much, but ... it was home. She licked her dry lips, sitting on the grass along with him.

“What if they did? Just one year. What if everyone just stopped watching?”

“But they won’t, Jim.” She said shaking her head. As much as she wanted to think positively, there was _absolutely_ nothing positive about the Games.

“What if they did? What if we did?” She turns to look at him when he says that, and a sad look made its way to her face.

“It won’t happen.” She murmurs.

“You root for your favourites, you cry when they get killed. It’s sick!”

“Yeah.”

“If no one watches, then they don’t have a game. It’s as simple as that.” A small smile reaches her face when she observes him more thoroughly. His pale face, though dirtied was still handsome. His jet black hair. His clothes. Finally, something she couldn’t see, but could feel. His determination. His will to fight.

“What?” Jim asks.

“Nothing!”

“Fine, laugh at me.” He says with fake annoyance, as Molly giggles.

“I’m not laughing at you.” He smiles back at her brightly, before a comfortable silence overtakes them.

“We could do it, you know. Take off, live in the woods. It’s what we do anyway.” The thought of running away with him made her heart swell, but that could never be a reality. _They_ could never be a reality. Molly had a family to take care of. Jim had his brother. They both had lives and people they needed to save. They couldn’t afford to be selfish.

“They’d catch us.”

“Maybe not.”

“Cut out our tongues, or worse. We wouldn’t make it five miles.” She says softly.

“No, I’d get five miles. I’d go that way.” He points to the West, and she shakes her head with a small, dreamy smile on her lips.

“I have Mina and my Mum— and you have your brother.”

“They can come too.” She smiles a bit wider at that.

“Mina in the woods?”

“Well, maybe not.” She sighs, looking at the sky.

“I’m never having kids.” Molly mumbles. It wasn’t by choice, of course. She loved children. But she’d rather not bring a person into this world like this. Without anything to eat. Without their freedom.

“I might. If I don’t live here.” Molly clicks her tongue. 

“But you do live here.” 

“I know. But if I didn’t— Oh, I forgot. Here.” Jim knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Molly. He had always been the person to ask ‘What If’ and never the realist between them. He was ambitious. He wanted a life with Molly, but not ... in 12.

He takes out a bread roll from his bag, giving it to the girl with the light brown tresses.

“Oh, my God! Is this real?” The enthusiasm in her voice was enough to make him smile just as excitedly as she did.

“Yeah! It better be. It cost me a squirrel.” Molly grins at him, splitting the bread in the middle and giving him half of it.

“Happy Hunger Games.” They ‘clink’ their bread rolls together, as Molly makes up a pompous British accent to imitate the people from the Capitol.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor.” He chuckles, the two eating their bread in silence. It had been awhile since they’d eaten. What with your name being added in every time you accept food from them.

“How many times has your name entered it?” She asks slowly. A part of her was afraid of losing Jim, but the other knew somehow that he’d survive.

“Forty two. Guess the odds aren’t exactly in my favor.” He gives her a sad smile before she pulls him into a hug. She closed her eyes and inhales the scent of burnt wood and charcoal coming from him.

“You’re going to be okay. I know you are. You always are.” He smiles, gingerly wrapping his arms around her as well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly hands the woman the bird she had shot down, receiving some money afterwards. When she looks through the baskets, a dirtied gold pin catches her eye, as she takes it into her hand.

“What’s this?” She asks, turning it around in between her fingers.

“That’s uh ... a mockingjay.” 

“How much?”

“You keep it. It’s yours.” The elderly woman said, as Molly nodded her head in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly grins at Mina who patted her clothes down. She walks towards the younger girl, crouching in front of her.

“You wanna see what I got you today?” Mina nods eagerly, looking into her sister’s bright hazel eyes, gold rings encompassing her irises. Someday, she wanted to be just like her.

Molly places the pin into Mina’s palm gently.

“It’s a mockingjay pin, to protect you. And as long as you have it, nothing bad will happen to you. Okay? I promise.” Mina turns it over in her palm, before hugging her sister. 

“Thank you, Molly.”

“You’re welcome, little duck.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly pats her dress down as her mother pins up the last braid in her hair, Mina sitting on the sidelines and watching her.

“I wish I could be pretty like you, Molly.” Molly smiles, sitting beside her.

“I want to be as pretty as you, little duck.” She murmurs, taking the Mockingjay pin and attaching it to the white blouse Mina was wearing before patting it down.

“I’ll keep you safe, little duck. I promise.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you by the Capitol.” Molly looks at Jim across from her inside the lines and watches as he makes a face at that, making her smile. The familiar music of the Capitol rang out, the screen playing the film.

“War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.” President Snow’s voice finished, as Jim made a fake gagging face. It was lucky how he didn’t get caught by Peacemakers, really.

“Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first.” Anthea’s bright purple hair bobbed when she moved towards the large bowl where their names were being held.

She lets her hand swish through the pieces of paper before she finally pulls one out, stepping towards the microphone.

“Mina Hooper? Where are you dear? Well, come on up.” The crowd parts in front of the younger girl, and Molly’s heart stops and drops to her stomach. Mina doesn’t move an inch, looking around her.

“Well, come on up!” The frightened Mina moves towards the stage slowly, before Molly finally finds it in her to move. 

“Mina! Mina!” She screams, her voice piercing the quiet crowd, watching it all unfold. Her arms are held by Peacekeepers, as she struggles, trying to reach her sister. 

“No! I volunteer! I volunteer!” She stops struggling, and stands up properly this time before she can stop herself.

“I volunteer as tribute!” She yells, as Anthea smiles lightly.

“I believe we have a volunteer.” Molly walks to the stage gingerly, before meeting Mina who wrapped her arms around her.

“You need to get out of here! You need to get out of here!” Molly said, shaking her head and pulling Mina’s arms away from her.

“No!”

“Go find mummy!”

“No!” Mina cried for her sister. For sending her to her death. While, Molly herself was relieved. Scared for her life, yes— but relieved that Mina was safe.

“Mina, go find mum!” Jim steps out of his line coming to retrieve Mina and bring her back.

“No!”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“No!” Jim hoists her up over her shoulder, as Mina flails and screams, crying for the loss of her sister, even when she was still alive and kicking right there.

“Go find mum!” She calls out.

Molly takes a deep breath as she walks up the stairs to the stage nervously, fiddling with her hands.

“District 12’s very first volunteer. Come on, dear.” Anthea beckons her to come closer, and Molly’s hesitation is clear to the crowd.

”What’s your name?” Anthea speaks into the microphone.

“Molly Hooper.”

“Well, I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn’t it?” Molly licks her lips, tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Let’s have a big hand for our very first volunteer, Molly Hooper.” Anthea claps enthusiastically, but it is silent in the crowd. One brings three fingers to their lips before raising it up over their head and soon the crowd does the same in tribute to Molly.

“And now for the boys.” Anthea moves towards the other glass bowl and picks up a name, reading it to the audience.

“Sherlock Holmes.” Everyone is silent, as Sherlock moves quietly towards the stage and walks up the stairs.

“Here we are. Our tributes from District 12. Well, come on you two, shake hands.” A flash of recognition makes its way to Molly’s face. A flashback of sorts. The rain. The wet ground. Sitting in the rain, her stomach grumbling. Sherlock holding pieces of bread and feeding it to the pigs. 

”Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” Molly outstretches her hand to him gently, a silent buzzing, ringing in her ear distracting her still.

His pale hand encompasses her own, as they move it up and down and shake them.

They’d have to kill each other soon after all.


	2. II: Train Rides

Molly paces the room she was ushered into, trying to breathe in and out smoothly but to no avail. Her heart was beating a thousand times per minute, and she didn’t have it in her to cry. Not anymore. She had to stay strong for Mina. For herself.

The door opens, a Peacekeeper pushing Mina and her Mum in as the youngest Hooper immediately rushes to her sister and hugs her.

“You have three minutes.” The Peacekeeper closes the door with a slam behind him.

“Mina, Mina—I don’t have much time.” She cups the girl’s face, wiping her tears away. Her heart broke at the sight of Mina so sad.

“Mina, listen. You’re gonna be okay. Don’t take any extra food from them, it isn’t worth putting in your name more times, okay? Listen, Jim will bring you game, you can sell cheese from your goat.” Mina nods, sniffing, her face red and puffy from crying.

“Just try to win, if you can.”

“Of course. Any maybe I can, I am smart, you know.” She smiles, though it’s a pained one. She knew she didn’t stand a chance in the Games. 12 rarely ever won. She wouldn’t be any different.

“You can hunt.” A spark of hope made its way to Mina’s eyes, and that was more than enough for Molly.

“Exactly.” Mina takes her sister’s hand and places the Mockingjay pin she had given her earlier on her palm.

“To protect you.”

“Thank you.” She hugs Mina a little tighter, kissing her head before straightening up.

“You can’t tune out again.” She said to her mother. 

“I won’t.”

“No, you can’t. Not like when dad died. Or when Lionel died. I won’t be there anymore, you’re all she has. No matter what you feel, you have to be there for her. Do you understand?” Melanie Hooper nods with tears in her eyes as she hugs her eldest daughter. 

“Don’t cry, Mum.” She mumbles, resting her head in the crook of her mother’s neck. She rubs the older woman’s back comfortingly.

“Don’t cry. Don’t.” Just as Molly is about to falter, Peacekeepers tear the family apart, Mina flailing in their arms once more as she is pulled from her sister.

Just as the Peacekeepers are distracted, someone slips into the room.

**Jim.**

He pulls her into a hug immediately, as she cries in his arms for a few seconds and sniffs, stopping herself. She couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m fine.” She reassures him, nodding her head.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I am.” She insists, and Jim holds her elbows.

“Listen to me, you’re stronger than they are. You are. Get to a bow.”

“I may not have a bow ...” 

“You will if you get to show ’em how good you are. They just want a good show, that’s all they want. If they don’t have a bow, then you make one, okay? You know how to hunt.” Jim doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince— Molly or himself.

“Animals.” Molly replies, and he shakes his head.

“There’s no difference, Molly.” He stops using her nickname, and just says Molly. No ‘Miss Molly’ or ‘Molly mine’, just ... Molly. He was worried, she knew that. But still, it just occurred to her that she’s actually going to die in that Arena and she would never see them all again.

“They’re twenty four of us, Jim, and only one comes out.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be you.” She manages to give him a half hearted smile before a Peacekeeper barges into their conversation.

“Okay, let’s go.” He tells Jim.

“Take care of them, Jim. Whatever you do, don’t let them starve.” She hugs him one last time, and feels him press a soft kiss to the side of her head before he pulls away and he is ushered out.

“I’ll see you soon, okay, Miss Molly?” She smiles with tears in her eyes, nodding her head as the door closes behind them.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly bites her bottom lip as she looks out of the window of the train, Anthea sitting in front of the two tributes.

“Two hundred miles per hour and you can barely feel a thing. I think it’s one of the wonderful things about this opportunity, that even though you’re here and even though it’s just for a little while, you get to enjoy all of this.” She gestures towards the grandeur of the train, while Sherlock and Molly merely stare at her and keep quiet.

“I’m going to find Mycroft. He’s probably in the bar car.” She gets up and leaves, the two being left in awkward silence.

“I knew your brother won the Games once. Why aren’t you living with him?” Sherlock scoffs at that, shaking her head.

“My personal life means nothing to you, Miss Hooper. I suggest you keep your nose out of my business.”

“We’re going to die anyway. Well, I am. Humor me.” He rolls his eyes but obliges anyway.

“My brother and I didn’t get along very well. After the Games, he ... he changed. I decided to stay with my mother back in 12, at the bakery. I didn’t starve, in fact, there had only been about 10 to 13 papers with my name on them. The odds weren’t in my favor, apparently.” She stays silent after that, nodding her head.

“So, what’s your story? Volunteering for your sister— You rather that you die rather than she?” Sherlock asks, as if it’s a new concept to him.

“Of course. Wouldn’t he do the same for you?” Sherlock smiles bitterly, looking away before the door to the train car opens, a man with a drink in his hand taking a sip before walking towards the alcohol. 

“Where’s the ice?” Mycroft asks with a grumble, as Sherlock rolls his eyes, mumbling something incoherent under her breath.

“We don’t know.” Molly responds. It’s silent for a moment, before the sound of sharp metal bangs against the container and Mycroft pours more whiskey into his glass.

“Okay. So, when do we start?” Molly asks, as Mycroft plops himself in front of them.

“Woah, woah. You’re so eager. Most of you aren’t in such a hurry.” Mycroft says sleepily, taking a sip from his drink.

“Yeah, I wanna know what the plan is. You’re our mentor, you’re supposed to—“

“Mentor?”

“Yeah. Our mentor, you’re supposed to tell us how to get sponsors and give us advice.” Molly repeats, half glaring at him.

“Oh. Okay. Um ... embrace the probability of your imminent death. And know, in your heart, that there’s nothing I can do to save you.” Mycroft nods, leaning back comfortably.

“So why are you here then?” Mycroft chuckles, holding up his glass.

“Oh, the refreshments.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Sherlock fumes, trying to take the drink from his brother’s hand when Mycroft kicks him in the chest, holding him there.

“You don’t want to do that, brother mine. You know how I get when it comes to my whiskey.” Sherlock glares daggers into him, taking his ankles, and twisting it lightly to move it from its position on his chest.

“You made me spill my drink. It’s a brand new pair of pants.” Molly opts for looking out of the window instead of dealing with the two.

“You know, I think I’ll go finish this in my room.” Mycroft gets up, leaving the two of them alone together once more.

“He’s gonna come around.” Molly tries to be positive for them, but to no avail. Sherlock sighs, crossing his arms in front of him.

“It’s no use.” He mumbles, but gets up anyways, walking to the direction where Mycroft walked off to.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The girl with the light brown hair, peeks through the small window in the dining car before seeing Mycroft and Sherlock finally engaging in conversation that wasn’t physical nor confrontational.

She smiles a bit in approval, the door opening as she walks in, greeting Anthea a small chorus of ‘Good Morning’ as the woman smiled back at her.

“You’d freeze to death first.” Mycroft says matter-of-factly, as Sherlock grumbles, leaning back with his arms folded in front of him.

“No, because I’d have a lot of fire.”

“No, that’s a good way to get killed.” Mycroft rolls his eyes at how his brother overlooked such obvious things once more. Molly gingerly reaches the table.

“What’s a good way to get killed?” She asks curiously.

“Oh, joy! Why don’t you join us? I was just giving some life saving advice.” Mycroft replies sarcastically, but frankly Molly didn’t care for much of that right now.

“Like what?” She asks Sherlock this time, who finally gives her a straight answer.

“Oh, I was just asking about how to find shelter.” 

“Which would come in handy if in fact you were still alive.” Mycroft snorts, as the younger Holmes brother scoffs. Molly knew she would never treat Mina this way, nor the other way around. Mycroft’s alcoholism definitely seemed like a big problem, but she couldn’t help but think there was some other underlying issues between them.

“How _do_ you find shelter?” Molly asks.

“Pass the jam?” Mycroft requests, but Molly insists.

“How do you find shelter?” She repeats, a bit more aggressively this time. She was annoyed, as much as any normal person would. She was going to be led to her death, and even if by some miracle she _did_ have a chance of winning, the man supposedly leading her to that was a giant baby who couldn’t stay sober.

“Give me a chance to wake up, dear. This mentoring is very taxing stuff.” He takes a flask from his pocket before spiking his coffee with it.

“Can you pass the marmalade?” He asks this time before Molly finally had enough and stabs a knife into the table, narrowly missing his fingers.

“That is mahogany!” Anthea says in annoyance from behind them.

“Look at you, you just killed a place mat. You really wanna know how to stay alive? You get people to like you.” Molly tilts her head in surprise.

“Oh! Not what you were expecting. Well, when you’re in the middle of the games, and you’re starving or freezing, some water, a knife or even some matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors, and to get sponsors, you have to make people like you. And right now, Molly dear, you’re not off to a real good start.” Molly ignores his comment, sitting down and biting into a piece of toast aggressively.

“We’re here.” Sherlock says, standing up to look out of the window as crowds upon crowds of people scream and cheer for their arrival.

He gives a small smile and wave, obviously heeding his older brother’s words. Mycroft clicks his tongue before pulling out the knife from the table.

“You better keep this knife, he knows what he’s doing.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The scene changes back to the bright stage earlier, where the Head Gamemaker was being interviewed in front of a live audience.

”So now that you’ve seen them, what do you think about this year’s crop of recruits? Are there any surprises that we can expect this year?” Phillip Anderson, the man with the bright sparkly purple hair asks.

“It’s really hard to tell just from a reaping, but I think this is a very interesting mix.” Charles Magnussen replies, as he adjust his glasses.

“Yeah.”

“Whenever you have a volunteer from an outlying district, that’s something you can’t ignore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Anderson has bright purple hair. I’m actually trying really hard to insert the characters because I rarely get amazing ideas haha! **Warstan** is canon by the way, but you’ll have to wait till Catching Fire. Can you guess which character they’re taking on? I hope you’re enjoying the story so far! 💖 — Zia. 💬


	3. III: Fire

Molly laid on the steel slab. Goosebumps ran down her skin as her wet flesh made contact with the cold metal. She hears whispers from in front of her, noticing her two stylists looking at her then talking amongst themselves again, making her furrow her brows.

“Sorry, what’s that?” She asks, trying to listen it so she could figure out something, especially if that something involved her. She didn’t exactly want to get waxed again.

“We’re just saying we might need to hose you down again before we take you to Sally.” She stays quiet, laying back down on the table and looking at the ceiling.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The door opens after a few minutes, though to Molly it seemed like an eternity until a young woman with tanned skin and curly hair walked in. She wore a jump suit, but she didn’t look much like Anthea or other people from the Capitol. She was ... different somehow.

Molly sits up, her legs dangling from the table as Sally approaches.

“That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, for your sister. My name is Sally.”

“Molly.”

“I’m sorry that this happened to you and I’m here to help you in any way that I can.” Molly’s eyes softened at that, and a small smile makes its way to her lips.

“Most people just congratulate me.” She mumbles.

“Well, I don’t see the point in that.” She replies, giving her hand a small squeeze. It’s silent for a little while, until Sally talks once more.

“So tonight they have the tribute parade, they’re gonna take you out and show you off to the world.” Molly nods slowly, taking all of that in. She’s seen kids on the telly, of course, but she never thought that one day it would be _her_ fighting to save her life.

“So you’re here to make me look pretty?” Sally smiles at that. Molly was already very pretty.

“I’m here to help you make an impression. Now usually they dress people in the clothes from their district.”

“Yeah, ours was coal miners.” Molly bites her bottom lip in defeat.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna do that. I wanna do something that they’re gonna remember. Did they explain about trying to get sponsors?” Sally asks, as she nods.

“Yeah, but ... I’m not very good at making friends.” She gives a sheepish smile at that, looking at the older woman.

“We’ll see. I just think somebody that brave shouldn’t be dressed up in some stupid costume now, should they?” She rubs Molly’s arm comfortingly, making her smile lightly.

“I hope not.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Molly bit her bottom lip nervously, the skin tight fabric making her feel a little bit uncomfortable and self conscious. Her dark makeup made her feel like she was a sore thumb as well, sticking out from everyone, and as a person who usually lurked in the background, she absolutely despised it. She had half a mind to just scratch her face off.

“You’re fidgeting too much.” She hears Sherlock comment from beside her, making her face feel hotter at the fact that she was being so obvious.

“You look nice.” He mumbles, and she almost didn’t catch it in time as he looked the other way, acting as though he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t fret too much about it.” He finishes, before Sally walks towards the two of them, flashing a smile to Molly which calmed her nerves just a little bit.

“Ready?” She asks the two of them, as Sherlock sighs in defeat.

“No backing out now, right?” Molly replies awkwardly, as Sally chuckles lightly, shaking her head. Her assistant hands her a small stick with a bright blue flame, as she looks at the two of them.

“This is fake fire, so it’s safe. Don’t be too stiff and don’t be afraid to move around a bit.” She presses the stick to their costumes before it spreads throughout their bodies.

The two climb onto the chariot, the familiar sound of Capitol drums ringing throughout the stadium before they’re pulled off to the parade.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At the tribute parade, the commentators, Phillip Anderson and Culverton Smith sit next to each other, speaking into the microphones as the cameras rolled. This would be playing in all screens across Panem, after all.

“Over one hundred thousand people craning to get a glimpse at this year’s tributes. And the sponsors get to see the tributes for the first time. The importance of this moment cannot be overstated.” Anderson states into the microphone, as Culverton nods at that.

The chariots from various Districts start rolling in, starting from the two Career Districts, 1 and 2.

“There they are! There they are!” Phillip says excitedly. If Sherlock had heard such enthusiasm, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Molly knew of his disdain for Capitol people, most especially of Anderson.

“This year’s tributes!” Culverton commentates.

“It looks exciting.”

“It just gives you goose bumps.”

“Don’t you love how the stylists, they so clearly are able to reflect the character of each district?” Culverton hums in approval, all but bouncing in his seat.

“Here’s District 4. Yes, the fishing. I get it. I like it.” The two tributes were dressed and blue green iridescent scales.

“That’s very good.”

“And behind them, we have two power plant workers. Right?” They both laugh at that. Molly and Sherlock’s outfits were indeed a bold move for Sally, but then again, who would get excited for coal miners exactly?

“And then … What is that? In the background?”

The crowd cheers louder for the black chariot engulfed in flames, Molly examining the crowd nervously as she held on and did her best not to fall off. She had a bit of a clumsy streak after all, and that certainly wouldn’t be good.

She feels his fingers against her hand, and looks at Sherlock who tried to reach for it.

“What are you doing?” She asked defensively, trying to ignore the burning heat in the bottom of her stomach. She was almost sure she was blushing like a tomato right now, but at least that matched the theme, right?

“Let’s give them a show. It’s what they want.” She hesitates for a few seconds, before she intertwines their fingers and Sherlock raises their hands, the crowd being spurred on and somehow only getting louder.

“Now see that! I love that! Two young people, holding their hands up, saying; ‘I’m proud I come from District 12. We will not be overlooked.’ Now I love that!” Anderson said brightly.

“People are sure to be paying attention to them right now.” Sherlock manages to catch a rose in his hand, most likely from the various flowers being thrown their way during the parade. 

It didn’t take long until the chariots stop, Molly’s eyes trained on the old President. The one leading her to her death.

They drop their hands, and she opts for playing with her fingers as the President reaches the podium.

“Tributes, we welcome you. We salute the courage and your sacrifice. And we wish you Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor.” The crowd cheers loudly at that, and she resisted the urge to scoff, as she didn’t know if a camera was on her at the moment. She feels a nudge against her fingers once more, and she looks at him. In his hand is a beautiful red rose. He doesn’t look her way, not at all. But his palm is held out in offering.

“Thank you.” She murmurs, gingerly taking it into her own palms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That was amazing!” Sally pulls Molly into a hug, making her laugh. She still missed home, obviously, what with her ‘imminent death’ slowly approaching, but Sally wasn’t so bad.

“We are all anybody’s going to be talking about!” Anthea clapped her hands, as she fusses around Sherlock who sighs far too deeply.

“So brave.” Mycroft comments from beside her.

“Are you sure you should be near an opening flame?” Molly responds bitterly, as Sherlock snorts. Mycroft throws his younger brother a glare, before turning back to the girl.

“Fake flame. Are you sure you—“ He cuts himself off from retorting once he sees another tribute eyeing him, almost sizing him up. 

Mycroft’s gaze flickers to Molly, before he tells their little group to go upstairs to the penthouse for a little ... discussion.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead, one of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days. Particularly to what I’m about to say.” Molly nudges Sherlock’s arm, making him glare at her. She pays no mind to it though, instead, picking at the suit she was wearing which stuck far too much to her skin.

“First; no fighting with the other tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that at the arena. There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My advice is don’t ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes, ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The screen flickers to the blonde earlier in training who had tried to fight another tribute who ‘stole his knife’.

“He’s a career. You know what that is?” Mycroft asks.

“From District 1.” Molly chimes, sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa as they discussed who they would be up against.

“And 2. They train in a special academy until they’re eighteen then they volunteer, by that point, they’re pretty lethal.” He says, as Molly shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“But they don’t receive any special treatment. In fact, they stay in the exact same apartment as you do. And I don’t think they let them have desert, and you can.” Anthea said brightly, trying to lighten the mood just a little bit as Molly reaches for a crisp.

“So how good are they?” Sherlock asks this time.

“Obviously they’re pretty good. They win it almost every year, but ...”

“Almost.” Anthea reassures.

“They can be arrogant, and arrogance can be a big problem.” Mycroft looks at his brother at that, then shifts his gaze to Molly.

“I hear you can shoot.”

“I’m alright.”

“She’s better than alright, mother buys her squirrels. She says she hits them right in the eye every time.” A warm blush makes its way to her cheeks, then her neck, as Mycroft gives a weird look to his brother. They might not have seen each other in years, but never had he ever shown ... such _’interest’_ dare he say, towards another.

“Sherlock’s strong.”

“What?” The lanky teen blinks, confused.

“He can throw a hundred pound of sack of flour right over his head, I’ve seen it.”

“Okay, well I’m not gonna kill anybody with a sack of flour.”

“No, but you might have a better chance of winning if somebody comes after you with a knife.”

“I have no chance of winning! None! Alright? It’s true. Everybody knows it. Do you know what my mother said? She said District 12 might finally have a winner. But she wasn’t talking about me, she was talking about you.” The room is silenced by Sherlock’s outburst, and Molly shifts a bit in her seat again. 

“I think we’ve covered enough for the day.” He says quietly, avoiding his older brother’s eyes as he walks out of the lounge and moves to his quarters.

A flashback flickers in Molly’s head— the first time she saw Sherlock, outside the bakery. After he threw the bread to the nearby pigs, he saw her shivering against the tree and threw one in her direction so that she could eat.

“I’m a little tired too.” She says, brushing it off and moving towards her own quarters, as Mycroft sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“We can’t have this happening, you know that, right?” A sad smile makes its way to Anthea’s face. 

“They’re getting too attached.” 

“ _I’m_ getting too attached.” She replies, and the oldest Holmes sighs at that. Mycroft couldn’t bear losing his brother, but he didn’t know if he wanted him to survive the games either. 

Sherlock used to look up at him. He used to work hard for his family; make sure they ate every single day.

Now he was just a man with a once brilliant mind who drowned his sorrows in alcohol. What a pity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sherlock reaches for the rope, climbing, or at least trying to, before his body collides with the cold floor.

The Career Tributes laugh at him, as Molly grabs his hand to help him up, standing on the tip of her toes to whisper in his ear.

“Throw that metal thing over there.” She nods to the large metal weights in the shelves, which have remained untouched.

“What? No. Mycroft said we’re not supposed to show our skills.” She rolls her eyes, pursing her lips.

“Since when did you care about what Mycroft says?”

“Since the moment I realized my life would be depending on it, Molly.” He rubs his arm, trying to ease a bit of pain, as she massages it with her fingers.

“Well, _I_ don’t care what Mycroft said. Those guys are looking at you like you’re a meal. Throw it.” She eggs him on, letting him go, as he moves towards it and picks up one of the metal balls, and throws it towards a weapons stand, making them all the spears fall to the floor with a clang. The other tributes look at him with somewhat of a newfound fear and ... respect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Tomorrow they’ll bring you in one by one, they’ll evaluate you. This is important because higher ratings will mean sponsors. This is the time to show them everything. There’ll be a bow, make sure you use it.” He says to Molly, as she nods.

“Sherlock, you make sure to show your strength, or reach for a knife. They’ll start with District 1, so the two of you will go last. Well, I don’t know how else to put this— _**Make sure they remember you.**_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s definitely getting a lot more comfortable with Molly, and Mycroft’s worried. _”Caring is a disadvantage”_ , especially in a televised game where you have to kill others to survive. In the Arena, you have no friends— mostly like how Sherlock has been through the past 17 years of his life until Molly came along. But as fast as she came, he’d have to lose her, won’t he?
> 
> But then again, that’s if Sherlock somehow manages to survive.
> 
> Also the next chapter would be my favourite because it’s the interview! Stay tuned. 💖
> 
> — Zia 💬


	4. IV: Interviews

Molly’s palms felt clammy. Cold sweat lined her skin, as she intertwined her fingers together and leaned forward on the stool. The minutes until her name was going to be called seemed to tick by like hours. One by one, the tributes were called, until only Sherlock and herself were left.

“Molly Hooper, District 12.” She heard her name through the intercom, the girl standing up before her bony wrist was grabbed. 

“You’re going to be fine.” He says quietly, looking up at her. She offers him a small, but still nervous smile as she stands up and walks towards the Evaluation Room.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sponsors were bustling around a little room overlooking the training room she was in. Tables were lined with knives, weapon stands filled with tridents and spears. They hadn’t been paying attention to her until she grabbed the bow and called out her name.

“Molly Hooper.” She says, though her voice sounded unsure and questioning. They quieted down soon, their drinks in their hands and food on their plates.

“District 12.” She caught the eyes of Charles Magnussen, the Gamemaker. He nods at her as she takes the arrow from her quiver and aimed for the target.

A few seconds later, she releases the arrow with the breath that she’d been holding, embarrassingly missing the target as the sponsors erupted in laughter and started to talk amongst each other one more. Her face crumpled up at that, but she was more than determined to prove herself. 

She had to win.

If not for herself, then for Mina.

She retrieves another arrow and aims for the target once more, hitting a perfect bullseye. She smiles brightly, proud of herself, before she looks up and realizes that none of them had been paying attention to her shot.

The noise is loud. Molly Hooper rarely got mad, but now she did. She was being shipped off to her death— the least they could do was try to act interested.

And so with a fire and determination in her heart, she took one last arrow and aimed at the target, before shifting her position last second and shot the apple in the mouth of the roasted pig they were devouring, the apple latching itself to the wall as the dead silence consumed the room and they all stared at her in shock, and maybe fear.

“Thank you,” She said loudly, staring at Magnussen pointedly, wanting nothing more than to shoot him in the head. But that made for unprecedented consequences on her family’s part, which they didn’t deserve.

“For your consideration.” She gave a mocking curtsy as she slammed the metal bow back on the weapons stand and walked out of the room.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you crazy?” Molly had half a mind to reply a very loud and enthusiastic ‘Yes’, but judging by Anthea’s sharp tone and the murderous look on her face, she decided not to push it.

“I just got mad.”

“Mad? You realize that your actions reflect badly on all of us, not just you!” She winces at the woman’s tone, avoiding her gaze.

“They just want a good show, it’s fine.” Sally sighs, rubbing the girl’s back comfortingly as she looks at Anthea.

“How about it’s just bad manners, Sally? How about that?” Mycroft soon comes sauntering into the room, his hand clutching his beloved umbrella as he walks towards the group.

“Well, finally! I hope you noticed, we have a serious situation.” Mycroft grins, shooting a thumbs up at Molly and Sherlock, making Molly smile just a little bit and Sherlock roll his eyes in amusement.

“Nice shooting, Molly dear. What did they— what did they do when you shot the apple?”

“Well they look pretty startled.” He chuckles at that, as Anthea looks at him disapprovingly. Like a mother, who was quite disappointed by their father’s amusement of their behavior.

“Oh! Now what did you say? ‘Thanks for your ...’”

“Thanks for your consideration.” She finished. She thought she saw a hint of a smile on Sherlock’s face, but it disappeared as fast as it came.

“Genius! Genius.”

“I don’t think we’re going find this funny if the gamemakers decide to take it out ...” Anthea is cut off by the man.

“On who? On her? On him? I think they already have. Loosen your corset, have a drink. I would have given anything to see it.” He smiled once again at Molly, giving her a small nod. Maybe she’d somehow wormed her way into his cold heart after all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The same drum beats that signified a Capitol announcement played over the speakers as Molly Hooper sat on the lime green coloured couch. She felt like she was going to be sick, if she was being honest.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed as cool as a cucumber. 

“They’re not going to give you a zero.” He says, leaning towards her as their stylists, Mycroft, as well as Anthea had their eyes trained on the telly. 

Molly resisted the urge to scoff, as she moved her face to look at him, his lips just inches away from her own. Her gaze flickers back up to his gorgeous eyes.

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” A cocky smirk makes its way to his face, as she shakes her head with a short laugh and looks at the television.

“From District One, Cato, with a score of ... nine.” Time seemed to move too slow. Her hands were clammy, her skin deathly pale and her heart was leaping into her throat.

“From District Twelve, Sherlock Holmes, score of ... ten.” Anthea smiles brightly and engulfs him in a hug, though the recipient went a bit rigid and patted her on the back instead.

“Excellent!”

“Bravo, Sherlock.”

A breath.

“And finally, from District Twelve. Molly Hooper with a score of ... eleven.” Her eyes widened as she looks at everyone with disbelief as a loud, excited shriek escapes Anthea’s lips.

“Congratulations.” Sherlock shoots her a small smile, which she returns. She turns to Mycroft, meeting his rather impressed, and she could tell he was very pleased. As she was.

“I thought they hated me.” She breathed out.

“They must have liked your guts.” Mycroft replies, amusement present on his features. The bottle of ice cold champagne is popped, and flutes are passed all around.

“To Molly Hooper, the girl on fire!” Sally announces, as the glasses clink.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 _Snip!_ The white rose is plucked from its shrub, as the game maker stares at the man.

“An eleven?” President Snow repeats in disbelief.

“She earned it.”

“She shot an arrow at your head.”

“Well, at an apple.” Charles counters. He believed it was well deserved.

“Near your head. Sit down.” Magnussen does as what he is ordered, albeit more cautiously, as the old President sits beside him.

“Charles, why do you think we have a winner?” Snow asks, examining the blooming flower in his hand. The garden was full of it— white roses.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do we have a winner? I mean if we just wanted to intimidate the districts why not round up twenty four at random, and execute them all at once? It would be a lot faster.” The statement hangs over the deadly silence, as Magnussen thinks to himself.

“Hope.” Snow answers his own question, turning the rose in his hand, pulling off petal after petal.

“Hope?”

“Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous. Spark is fine, as long as it’s contained.” He continues.

“So?” The President smiles bitterly, placing the wilted flower on the gamemaker’s lap.

“So, contain it.”

“Right.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Where’s Sherlock?” She asks, drying off her wavy brown hair with her towel.

“He’s in his room. Now, listen. Tomorrow’s the last day and they let us work with our own tributes right before the game, so you and I will be going down at nine.” Mycroft says matter-of-factly, taking a sip from his expensive looking scotch.

“Well, what about him?”

“Oh, he says he wants to be training on his own from now on.” A frown etches itself onto her face.

“What?”

“This kind of thing does happen at this point. There’s only one winner, right?” The familiar feeling of dread settles itself in her stomach once more. 

Of course. How stupid of her. How could she forget?

“It’s not smart to get attached, Molly.” She stays quiet, moving towards the mugs and putting the kettle on.

“Whatever happens ... there’s nothing we can do about it.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She’s back, and it’s worse than ever. Now, Sherlock isn’t by her side to comfort her, and the makeup feels like two pounds heavier on her face. Her dress is too tight, too itchy, her hair is pulled back too much.

“Amazing.” Sally looks at her handiwork, her hands on the girl’s elbows.

“I don’t feel amazing.”

“Don’t you know how beautiful you look?” Sally frowns, examining the young woman who avoided her gaze.

“No! And I don’t know how to make people like me. How do you make people like you?” She brushes Sally’s hands off, continuing her pacing.

“Well you made me like you.” She responds, and Molly clicks her tongue over the roof of her mouth.

“That’s different, I wasn’t trying.”

“Exactly. Just be yourself, I’ll be there the whole time, and just pretend that you’re talking to me. Okay?” She lets out a deep breath, nodding her head in resignation. Her mind was elsewhere, that much she knew well, her brown eyes searching for a pair of cloudy grey eyes in the sea of people.

“Okay.” She watches the tributes getting interviewed one after the other, and a few minutes after, her eyes meet his, but he acts as if she wasn’t there. Wasn’t staring right at him and conveying everything she needed him to know. His gaze always flew right past her. Almost as if she was engraved in his peripheral vision, but never in his direct line of sight.

She knew he was doing that on purpose, and she just stopped trying.

“From District 12. District 12, you know her as the girl on fire!” The audience members cheer loud enough to make her ears pop. Death seemed to be the only thing running in her mind right now. Her survival lied here.

“Well, we know her as the lovely Molly Hooper.” Claps and screams are heard, but the ringing in her ear won’t stop as she cautiously walks towards the stage in her sequined scarlet dress with only one strap holding it up against her bony shoulder.

Anderson meets her halfway, kissing her cheek to cheek as they sit back down. The ringing doesn’t stop until a few seconds later, and by then he’s looking at her questioningly.

“Sorry, what?”

“I think someone’s a little nervous.” The audience members laugh at that, and she shifts uncomfortably on the weirdly egg shaped seat.

“I said, that was quite an entrance that you made at the tribute parade the other day. Do you want to tell us about it?” He says brightly into the microphone as the lights blinded her momentarily overhead.

“Well, I was just hoping ... that I wouldn’t burn to death.” Molly replies cautiously as the crowd laughs comically once more.

“When you came out on that chariot, I have to say, my heart stopped.” Anderson turn to the audience, hand on his chest dramatically. She can’t help but wonder what must be going on through Sherlock’s head right now. If he ... If he was already making a nasty comment about Anderson’s IQ and annoyingly bright hair.

“Did any of you experience this as well? My heart stopped.” 

“So did mine.” Molly chimes in, almost in autopilot, and a small smile makes its way to her face when they laugh heartily at her response.

“Now, tell me about the flames. Were they real?” His voice lowers an octave at the question, as she smiles lightly at him, her previous nerves shaken off even just for awhile. She turns to look at Sally in the crowd, who nods at her.

“Yes.” She replies.

“... In fact I’m wearing them today. Would you like to see?” The audience cheers once more in excitement, as Anderson’s eyes sparkled with glee. It was almost so much like a sitcom, really. So ... animated.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Is it safe?” Molly giggles, nodding her head.

“Yes.” Anderson grins at her, looking back towards the crowd.

“Well, what do you think folks?” It gets louder somehow, and instantly, her mood lightens up and death is at the back of her mind. 

At least for now.

“I think that’s a yes!” She stands up slowly, hands brushing the top of her dress a little, as she twirls, making sure she didn’t fall off the stage, the flames engulfing the bottom of her dress.

“Yes, Yes! I love it!” The audience goes wild as she continues to spin, until she starts losing her footing and stops, giving them a small curtsy.

She sits back down, crossing her legs as she smiles widely for the cameras.

“Molly, that was something. That was something. Thank you for that.” She smiles in reply.

“I have one more question for you. It’s about your sister.” Suddenly, the aura was heavy and serious. Her smile falters now, but she keeps up the act anyway.

“We were all very moved, I think, when you volunteered for her at the reaping. Did she come and say goodbye to you?”

“Yes, she did.”

“She did. And what did you say to her, in the end?” Molly licks her lips unconsciously, a nervous tick, as she looks back at him.

“I told her that I would try to win. That I would try to win for her.” The crowd ‘aws’ at her reply, as she fiddles with her fingers.

“Of course you did. And try you will.” Anderson takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

”Ladies and gentlemen, from District 12, Molly Hooper, the girl on fire!” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Nice job, Molly-wog.” She smiles at the nickname, looking at Mycroft, as she stood backstage, trying to catch her breath.

“Thank you.” Anthea pulls the girl into her side.

“Nice dress too.” He compliments her once more, Anthea’s lips about to offer a response.

“Not yours.” He tells her, and Molly chuckles softly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He gives a small smile to the audience. It seems genuine enough for them to let it slip, but she knows better. Intent brown eyes are fixed on the screen as he sits on the uncomfortable stool she had been in earlier.

“Well, I’ll be damned, another Holmes. There’s no way you aren’t winning this year, with your brother mentoring you himself!” Sherlock smiles back, nodding his head in approval, though it was transparent to Molly that this was all an act. That’s all it ever was, really. 

Get people to love you. 

Have said people watch as their favourites die in the games. Like a show character, except they really stay dead this time.

“So, Sherlock, tell me. Is there a special girl back home?” The crowd ‘oohs’ and he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He could be an amazing actor, that much Molly thought. Sherlock was never nervous or shy. He was charming, yes, but in his own overconfident, stuck up way.

“No. Not really.”

“No! I don’t believe it for a second. Look at that face!” He pushes his chocolate locks from his face.

“A handsome man like you. Sherlock, tell me.”

“Well, there uh…there is this one girl that I’ve had a crush on forever.” 

“What’s he doing?” Molly mumbles to herself, eyebrows stitched together as she stared at him. Sherlock was a popular figure in 12 for being the coldest and distant, yet clever man in town. 

Jim was bloody jealous of him, for God’s sake, and he was absolutely gorgeous.

Molly shook the thoughts of her unrequited love out of her head as she stared intently.

“Ah!” Anderson exclaims in glee.

“But I don’t think she actually recognized me until the reaping.” His British baritone would’ve made her melt if she was another girl in another life. But she was going to die, and her heart belonged to someone else. He’d wormed his way into her heart, just like a best friend would.

And she’d have to kill him.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Sherlock. You go out there, and you win this thing, and when you get home, she’ll have to go out with you. Right folks?” The audience cheers and claps, as she thanks Sally for handing her a cup of tea, taking a sip from it as the warm beverage slides down her throat.

“Thanks. But I uh…I don’t think winning’s gonna help me at all.”

“What’s he playing at?” She asks the older woman, who merely shrugs in defeat. She’d long stopped analyzing Sherlock Holmes.

“And why not?”

“Because she came here with me.” Deathly silence. You could hear a pin drop on the stage if you wanted to. Molly’s fingers gripped the ceramic of the handle tighter as she continued to watch.

“Well, that’s bad luck.” Anderson says sadly, his voice sympathetic. But they all knew he was just another one of their puppets. Capitol scum. A man living in luxury and who enjoyed watching children get killed as millions of people starve.

“Yeah, it is.”

“And I wish you all the best of luck.”

“Thank you.” She places her unfinished cuppa on the table before getting up.

“Molly—“ Sally doesn’t even get to finish her sentence when small, petite Molly pushes Sherlock against the wall, his collars in her hands.

“What the hell was that?! You don’t talk to me and then you say you have a crush on me? You say you wanna train alone? Is that how you wanna play? Huh?” Mycroft immediately spring into action and holds her as she seethes in anger at Sherlock, who was looking too coldly at her direction for her not to feel a shiver come down her spine. One she did her best to ignore.

“Stop it. Stop it!” She pulls his arms off her, brushing it off.

“Let’s start, right now!” Molly moves towards the lanky boy, as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“He did you a favor.”

“He made me look weak!”

“He made you look desirable. Which in your case can’t hurt, dear.” She glares at Mycroft, as Sally sighs a few ways away from them.

“He’s right, Molly.” The designer nods her head.

“Of course I’m right! Now I can sell the star crossed lovers from District 12—“

“We are not star crossed lovers!” She screams.

“It’s a television show. And being in love with that boy might just get you sponsors, which could save your damn life.” Her breathing is heavy, but she does her best to calm down anyway. She’s still mad, that much rang true. She could’ve murdered Sherlock right then and there with her tea cup, but she didn’t. 

He was a friend she didn’t know she even needed nor wanted.

“Okay. Why don’t you get out of here. Maybe I can deliver you both in one piece tomorrow.” Mycroft pats his brother’s back who had been silent the whole exchange, his eyes avoiding Molly bloody Hooper’s as he stalks off to god-knows-where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly’s **mad**. I mean, who wouldn’t be, honestly? He ignores her for days leading up to the Games, and all of a sudden he likes her?
> 
> Well, at least we know Sherlock and Mycroft are actually trying to save her! That at least counts for something right?
> 
> Also, Mycroft is getting softer, and I love that. Thanks for reading! Please remember to send me your feedback ( or die ). 
> 
> — Zia 💖💬

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It’s Zia, bringing you my first ever fanfic from this site! I usually write on Tumblr, so this is new. I can’t help but wonder what things would be like if Molly was in Katniss’ shoes, so I decided this was a good idea. I have so many ideas but very little motivation to write, so a few kudos, feedback, and comments go a long way! *in a soft voice: please?* 💕


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